A New Start
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Carick AU. Oneshot. They were both looking for a new start to their lives. They may have gotten more than they bargained for. Carol/Rick Carrick, Carick


**AN: So this little "scene" was inspired by the Tumblr prompt that wanted a short story about Carol/Rick having a one night stand that came with a little more. I've never done them AU before, but here goes.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol talked herself out of going and into going numerous times before she ever found the restaurant. She pulled in the parking lot, turned off the car, and checked the name of the place again to make sure it was the same place that the brightly colored flier announced.

She didn't even know what had possessed her to take the flier.

But, really, she did know.

People made their way toward the restaurant from the parking lot and wandered around on the deck area of the seaside establishment.

People just like her who had plucked the fliers out of the small pile by the hotel registration desk, no doubt.

Carol sighed. At least the restaurant looked nice. If both else, she could have a dinner looking out over the water.

She had no idea, after all, what any of the other views of the night might be like.

She may be sorely disappointed. But then, there would be many there that would find her the disappointment. She wasn't that much to look at. She never had been.

But she was newly widowed, not at all sad about the untimely loss of her tyrant husband in the unfortunate car accident, and she was on the first vacation she'd been on since her, equally unfortunate to the crash and the rest of her marriage, honeymoon. Damn it, she was going to have a good time.

Her daughter was staying with her best friend for the long weekend and Carol was out to enjoy herself—rekindle her freedom now that she was out from under Ed's thumb and had, free and clear, every bit of money that the stingy asshole had ever made.

And that, she knew, was why she'd taken the flier. Why most of them gathered there had. A gathering set up for singles to mingle at a place like this?

It said I have needs-animal needs I don't want to even put a name to because it would be seen as improper-and I'm on vacation. I want to fill the need without putting in the time. I want to fill it without the mess.

And I probably don't even want to leave my number.

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May the best man win. If that's how it worked? Shane Walsh was clearly the better man. If he hadn't been? Rick wouldn't be a new divorcee out at a restaurant and bar and desperately trying to meet someone.

He was trying to meet someone. That was just it. That's why he'd come here. He didn't want the whole attachment thing. He'd had that. He still had that. He would always have it.

Because even if Lori was happy with her new husband? And even if her brand new baby girl was the result of her decision making—a decision that Rick said they could "forget" if she wanted and he'd raise the baby for his own, a decision that she refused because she couldn't let Shane go—Rick was still attached to Lori. He always would be.

Because even if she had a new life? His life still revolved around his son. His son that was three hundred miles away right now, settling into his new house with his mother, and who wasn't old enough to understand what happened—so he probably believed that this whole mess had something to do with Rick.

Rick wasn't trying to do the attachment thing. He wasn't looking for any level of commitment.

And the gathering that boasted an "easy atmosphere" and "enthusiastic singles" waiting for the opportunity to meet each other for "fun" seemed to be just about what he was looking for.

It would hopefully be just what he needed to get out of the mood that he'd been in for too long now.

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Carol hadn't been on a date in too long to mention, but she was starting to think that dates—at least as she once thought of them—and dates now went much differently. Maybe it was because it was a one-time thing, and she'd never done that before. Maybe it was because they were both carrying a good deal of baggage and that hadn't been the case when she was young and innocently dating. Whatever the reason, though, the date was quite different than she thought it might go.

By the time she made it to his place? A small but nice apartment that still smelled like fresh paint, Carol felt like she knew everything about Rick. At least, she knew everything about his ex-wife and his son. She knew everything about his backstabbing best friend and she knew everything about the baby that wasn't his, but who he was more than willing to have raised as his.

She knew that he was full of anger and hurt—and his pride had been injured.

But, unlike a man who guarded his pride with his fists—like Ed—Rick seemed to simply show his broken pride in a flurry of emotion that bordered between frustration and anxiety.

Carol could handle that, at least for the span of an evening.

Besides, there was something in him that she liked. There was something there—maybe it was the fact that he seemed so broken at the moment—that drew her to him. It had been the reason that she'd found him, almost immediately, in the room full of strangers, even though it had meant that, on the short trip from the bar to where he was standing, she'd had to turn down offers to chat with three other men.

Even if they turned out bad for her, she found herself drawn to people who seemed to have their own demons to fight. At least tonight, though? There wouldn't be time for it to hurt her. And he didn't seem to have the slightest interest in doing so, at any rate.

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Making love to the same woman for sixteen years, especially when she was the only woman with which he'd ever had any real experience, was a hard habit to break for Rick. He didn't realize how hard, exactly, until he found himself—for the first time since his divorce—in bed with another woman.

Carol was beautiful. She was soft and sweet and encouraging. She flattered him as much as he flattered her, maybe more.

But she was different. And even though different was what he wanted? It wasn't an easy thing to get used to.

She smelled different than Lori had. Her perfume was foreign to his senses. The tastes she left on his tongue were different. The sounds that she made—he had to learn if they were good or they were bad.

Everything was different.

And different wasn't a bad thing. It wasn't bad at all, but it was a stark reminder to Rick, that his whole life, now, was different. There was nothing that was the same. There was nothing that would ever be the same again.

When he woke up, she was still sleeping in his bed. He moved the sheet enough to cover her, feeling like he shouldn't see her exposed as she was, even after what they'd done together. He'd gone to get something to drink and then he'd return to sit gently on the side of the bed while he'd mulled it over. He hadn't heard her stir at all until he felt cool fingers rest lightly on his shoulder.

He jumped and she snatched back. He might have missed it, but he was trained to look for things like that—he'd been a police officer all of his working life. She snatched back like she feared he'd hurt her.

She'd been hurt before.

Suddenly Rick felt worse than he had before. He'd spilled every detail of his life to this woman, and all he knew about her was that she was a widow. All he'd bothered to find out was that she wasn't married and they were both free to do what they would without wrecking anyone's marriage in the same way that his had been destroyed.

He turned and slowly extended an arm. Whatever had startled her, though, had passed. He touched her arm, slid his hand up, and gently squeezed at her shoulder. Then he moved his hand a little farther and kneaded at her neck.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This wasn't—this wasn't what you signed up for."

Carol rested with her legs folded under her.

"I didn't sign up for anything in particular," she said. "And—you've shown me a good time. You don't have to worry about that."

"I didn't even ask you about your story," Rick said.

Carol smiled softly. It wasn't necessarily at him. It was simply a smile.

"I'm a widow," Carol said. "My husband—wasn't my biggest fan. But—he's dead now. And I wouldn't have him back if I could. I have a twelve year old daughter. She's perfect. That's really all there is to tell. Now? I'm just—getting my life back, you know? Thinking about my future. And—even if you think this wasn't wonderful? I'll always think about you as—as the first man that made me feel good when I started my new life."

Rick looked at her and swallowed. He almost could've kicked himself for the thoughts that jetted through his mind.

She was beautiful. She was sweet. She was optimistic. She was looking toward the future, something he hadn't learned how to do yet. What would it be like? What would it be like to spend the rest of his life with someone like this?

But this wasn't that kind of thing. This wasn't about that. And that wasn't what either of them had signed up for.

When she was ready to go? He would let her go. He'd give her his number—in case she was ever in town and wanted to catch up or meet for a drink or something. But really? When she left? She'd just be leaving.

He had to remind himself, because he kept forgetting, that he wasn't looking for commitment. He didn't want attachment.

And, probably, neither did she.

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Three months after her vacation, Carol hadn't expected to return to the place and park her car in front of the apartment building where she'd gone with Rick after she'd met him at the mix and mingle gathering that she'd decided—very last minute—to attend.

She'd wanted to come back to the little seaside town sometime, of course, but this wasn't exactly how she had imagined her return to the place where she'd decided to mark the beginning of her new life.

But, apparently, she'd done such a good job at marking the start of her new life that she'd gone a little overboard.

It appeared they'd managed, accidentally of course, to _create_ a new life. And that hadn't been in the plans at all.

Carol sat in her car for a long time and tried to decide what she was even going to say to Rick. She'd driven there, a three hour trip, while Sophia stayed at a friend's house, because she thought this was the kind of thing that she should tell him in person. At home, she'd stared at his contact information on her phone for some time, trying to decide if she should call him out of the blue and tell him about the brand new little heartbeat that she'd heard thump-thump-thumping just two days before at her doctor's office. In the end, though, she'd decided to tell him in person.

Whether he said he didn't want to know anything about it, or whether he said that they might try to figure something out—though she had no idea what—she wanted to see his face. She wanted to see, there, what his true feelings were. She already knew that he wasn't any good at hiding them.

Finally, Carol got out of the car and she made her way up the walkway to the apartment building. It wasn't hard to find his number and she stood outside the door for a moment and hoped she hadn't been too presumptuous.

He might not be home. He might have found someone. He might not be alone.

But there would've been no way, really, for her to have found that out without having to explain why, after not having spoken to him since she'd left the apartment, she had to see him immediately.

Finally, she held her breath and knocked.

When he came to the door, wearing nothing but a pair of pants, he was obviously surprised to see her there. He smiled at her, though, and leaned into the door frame immediately after he realized who she was.

"Carol," he said. "I've been—thinking about you. Uh—what are you doing here?"

Carol swallowed.

"You've been thinking about me?" Carol asked.

Rick nodded. Now his brow was furrowed. He was concerned. Maybe her face was giving her away.

"I've been thinking about you too," Carol said. "Actually—a lot lately. And—I think we need to talk?"


End file.
